


Take My Breath Away

by Vae



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, M/M, Manicures & Pedicures, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Adam's upstairs brain is still just about in charge (and possibly planning the purchase of a ring gag in the near future). He rolls onto his side, reaching out to stroke Tommy's hair, hand sliding down to rest against that pale, slender neck, thumb resting over the frantic fluttering of Tommy's pulse. "Don't ask for what you want me to do," he reminds Tommy softly. "Ask me for what you want."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorchasilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorchasilver/gifts).



> These characters are fictional. The situation is fictional. Resemblance to real people may be inferred, but not really. No offense intended.

It's not exactly an accident, but it isn't a discovery Adam sets out to make. He just gets carried away sometimes. And okay, he knows how big he is and how tiny Tommy is and how experienced Tommy isn't and maybe he should know better than to wrap both hands in Tommy's hair during a blow job, especially when Tommy hasn't exactly mastered deep-throating yet (but they're working on it and they're both very, very dedicated to practice times), but the thing is.

It's.

Well, the whole no-condom thing is really kind of new for them and it makes everything like a thousand times more intense when Adam can feel the heat of Tommy's mouth directly on his dick, and when he can feel how wet and soft Tommy's lips are, and when he can feel the slick press of Tommy's tongue tracing a line along the underside of his dick, so it's understandable that he gets a bit lost in the moment. Tommy makes these really pretty noises when Adam's pulling his hair anyway, and now he can _feel_ those noises as well as hearing them, holy shit, low vibrations all around his everything, so he twists his fingers a little harder than he means to and pulls a little closer than he means to and seriously fucking loses it when he can feel the sudden constriction of Tommy's throat around the head of his dick. He tugs sharply on Tommy's hair, getting one more of those noises before silence, stillness, and Tommy's nails digging hard into his hips before a sharp shudder and the sudden chlorine-sweet smell of spunk lets him know that Tommy's come. And that's when Adam really loses it, head dropping back to break visuals, eyes forcing closed, back arching as he spills helplessly into the welcome and seriously fucking amazing soft heat of Tommy's mouth.

So thirty seconds later Tommy's doubled over, choking up jizz into the bathroom sink with Adam rubbing his back kind of helplessly, but it's all about learning, right?

"Holy shit," Adam says, with all due reverence and a touch of breathlessness, and tries not to let his legs collapse down onto the bathroom floor the way they want to.

Tommy spits again, pulls a face, and gropes for a Kleenex before blowing his nose. Adam winces in sympathy. It's not like he still sneezes come when he gives a condom-free blow job and swallows, but there's no way he's ever forgetting how much it burned when he did (and it was definitely more than one time).

Adam strokes up Tommy's spine, fingers tracing over the rise and dip of each vertebra, then combs through his hair, then, in a fit of inspiration, fills a glass with water from the tap and offers it over. Tommy hesitates, takes it, swills out his mouth and spits once more, then takes a swallow. "Fuck this shit," he says, voice rough and low, thick and seriously even more sexy than he usually manages. "You totally owe me, like, fifteen beers for that."

The mini-bar can't provide fifteen beers, but it can provide a bottle of Jack, which Adam figures is a suitable substitute. From the way Tommy lights on it and the shot glasses, he's pretty sure that Tommy agrees.

Two shots each, and they're both relaxed enough that Adam's back to sprawling on the bed, all the pillows in the world stacked up behind him, with Tommy curled against his side and two shot glasses balanced on his hips as Tommy refills them. It works for Adam: he gets more booze and his hands free to keep petting Tommy's hair and shoulders, occasionally slipping down to graze over a tattoo, tracing the outline of faces inked into skin.

"So," he says, as casually as he can manage, "something you wanna tell me?"

Tommy pushes a glass into his hand and ducks his head. Eyeliner and shadow's smeared from the coughing, leaving an amazingly smoldering smudge across to his hairline. That's pretty, but Adam would really rather be seeing Tommy's eyes. "Like warn me next time you decide you're gonna try to drown me with your spunk?"

Okay, well, yeah, there's that, but not what he was going for. "Like what turned you on so much that you came with my cock down your throat and neither of us touching your cock? "

A flush of color stains pink across Tommy's cheekbones. "You're hot, it's not a big deal."

Adam kind of disagrees. Adam kind of thinks that anything that turns Tommy on that much is a huge deal and is something he needs to know a lot more about. "I'm always hot," he says, a little smugly. "Was it the hair pulling?"

Tommy makes a disgruntled noise and throws back his shot. "Kinda."

"Kinda," Adam echoes. Well, that's a start. "Because I know you like that." Experimentally, he twists two of his fingers in Tommy's hair and tugs lightly, watching Tommy's face and the way his lips shine with liquor. Tommy's eyes drop closed, swift and sudden, and his white teeth slide over the sheen of bourbon before catching on his lower lip, breath hitching as he pulls away from the tug, deepening it, sharpening it.

Just for a moment, then Tommy drops his head back against Adam's shoulder. "Yeah, okay, pushy fucker, that's hot."

That's way beyond hot, that's seriously fucking gorgeous, especially the way Tommy goes all pliant and loose after, cat-in-sunshine-sprawl heavy against Adam's side with his eyes still closed. " _You're_ hot," he says appreciatively, and twists around far enough to lick the taste of Jack from Tommy's mouth.

Some more minutes get lost there, except they're not really lost, they're more _invested_ in silent communication, in the slow curl and lazy slide of tongue meeting tongue, lips pressed to lips, connection and affection reaffirmed, claim made and accepted. Adam's never going to deny that he is, in fact, a pushy fucker, but as long as Tommy responds this well to it, he's got zero incentive to think about changing. If he even wanted to. Which he doesn't.

"But," he resumes, after a suitable interval, several more kisses and another shot each, "it's not just the hair pulling, right?"

Tommy makes a discontented sound and rubs his head against Adam's shoulder, twining closer and stretching one leg over Adam's. "This is seriously fucking bad pillow talk."

"It seriously isn't." Adam tries to balance his glass on Tommy's hip, which is too bony for anything ever to balance there but perfect for grabbing and biting, and a few purpling marks already there attest to that fact. "Baby, if something turns you on that much, I wanna know about it." And do it again. And again.

"Pushy fucker," Tommy mutters and bites Adam's collarbone, sharp teeth hard enough to shock the pain through the pleasant haze of Jack and afterglow Adam's got going on.

Adam yelps, put his glass down wherever he can reach, and rolls over to wrap around Tommy. "I prefer toppy bitch," he says serenely, dips his head, and returns the bite, teeth closing neatly on Tommy's earlobe and tugging lightly, tongue tracing around the warm metal of piercings until Tommy's squirming against him.

He really fucking loves how responsive Tommy is.

Sliding a hand down Tommy's back, he cups his ass and hauls him in closer. "So are you gonna tell me now?"

"Pushy," Tommy reiterates, flops on top of him, and kisses him again.

Adam's got to admit, as a distraction, it works pretty well. Especially with Tommy on top of him and his hands on Tommy's tiny ass, curves that Tommy insists don't exist fitting very existently into his fingers. It's nowhere near enough to make him forget that he needs to know what turned Tommy on so much, but it's a very valid reason for delaying the interrogation. One hand caressing Tommy's ass and everything it promises, the other slides back up to twist fingers in his hair and get control of the kiss, biting Tommy's lower lip until he gets the gasp and shiver he's searching for.

Then he licks over the bitten lip and uses his hand to tug Tommy's head back, away from delaying kisses. He regrets it, but there's more time for kissing. After he's got an answer. "You really want me to keep guessing?"

"I really want you to drop it," Tommy says. With his voice husky and low, it's nearly convincing.

"Tough shit, baby." Adam curls his fingers and scratches Tommy's scalp, relaxing his grip enough that Tommy can move if he wants to break eye contact. Sometimes it's easier to talk about stuff without looking at someone. They've had some awesome conversations in the dark. (Adam's not entirely sure that Tommy was actually awake for all of them.)

Tommy sighs and pushes his head into Adam's hand. "Guess, then."

The more Tommy doesn't want to talk about it, the more Adam wants to know what it is. Maybe it's one of his faults, but he's pretty sure that this is one secret that's going to be better for sharing. He rubs his thumb against Tommy's hairline, thinking back. As much as he can, anyway; he wasn't exactly thinking much or very clearly at the moment Tommy came. "My cock just tastes that good?" he hazards.

"Oh, you fucking wish." Tommy snorts, wriggling down closer and resting his head against Adam's shoulder.

Adam goes back to petting Tommy's hair. Okay, that one had been a long shot, but he'd had to start somewhere. So. Not the taste of his cock. Not the hair pulling. Or... not just the hair pulling. So the hair pulling was part of it, and... "You got off on deep-throating me?"

"Cause I've never done that before." Tommy hooks a leg over Adam's, shamelessly snuggling into the petting. "Gonna give me a little warning next time?"

"Of deep-throating?" There had been warning. At least, Adam was pretty sure that the whole "hey, you wanna try that deep-throating thing again?" conversation counted as warning. And Tommy's enthusiastic agreement hadn't been entirely verbal but it had been entirely unmistakable.

"Of trying to drown me, fucker," Tommy says sulkily.

Adam sighs. "We're really gonna have to work on your choice of pet names, honey. And I already apologized for that, like, seven times." He pauses, figuring that making it eight won't hurt. Besides, he really does still feel kind of guilty about that. "Sorry, baby."

"Yeah." Tommy makes a disgruntled noise. "You're still making it up to me."

"I am," Adam promises immediately. They'll probably both enjoy the making it up, too. Not to mention Tommy enjoys deep-throating from both sides and Adam's honest enough to admit that not only does he have a lot more practice, he's got an easier job of it than Tommy does. "And you're telling me what got you off."

"You did," Tommy says, and Adam growls, rolling them over, shot glasses going wherever, until he can pin Tommy down, poised over him on hands and knees, heels of his hands hard on Tommy's shoulders, using his own weight to keep him in place. Tommy's eyes go dark and wide and his lips part.

So maybe Adam's not playing fair, but playing fair isn't getting him the answer he wants and seriously, there is _nothing_ ever to be ashamed of in getting turned on. As long as everyone involved's aware of what's going on and consenting to it, anyway. He's working on the aware bit. "Tell me," he whispers, lips an inch from Tommy's.

Tommy rears up, angling for another kiss, and Adam pulls back out of reach. It's not what he wants to do, but fuck it, he wants the answer. "What are you scared of? I'm not gonna disapprove or anything stupid like that."

"'S embarrassing," Tommy manages. It's slow, and he stumbles over the word, but he's not looking away from Adam's eyes, and Adam figures that's all the encouragement he needs.

"No, baby," he says softly. "It's hot. So tell me what it is."

Tommy sighs, and Adam can feel the tension beginning to fade, bleeding out under his hands the longer he keeps Tommy pinned in one place and wow, he's learning all kinds of things about Tommy tonight. All kinds of hot things. "Tell me," he says again, quietly.

"It's..." Tommy starts, then stops, teeth dragging over his lip. Adam refuses to get distracted, and waits for more. "When you had your dick down my throat. And your hands..." He lifts one of his own hands, waving it vaguely in the air before resting it on Adam's back, fingers drumming over his shoulder blade. "I couldn't breathe."

Adam starts to apologize again before getting it. And stopping, and reconsidering. "Huh."

Tommy flushes, color creeping up his throat to dye his cheeks. "I _said_ it was - "

There's no way on earth Adam's letting him finish that sentence. He interrupts with a kiss harder than the previous ones, biting Tommy's lower lip before easing back and rolling off again, tucking Tommy in close against his side. "I don't wanna hear that word from you again, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy agrees shakily, then blinks, lashes dark against the pink still shading his cheekbones, eyes sharper and more focused when he opens them again. "Wait, what?"

Adam grins, satisfied and a little smug. "I'mma hold you to that."

"Pushy fucker," Tommy mumbles, somehow making it sound like an endearment. Adam laughs, makes sure the shot glasses are safely out of the way, and tucks them both in enough covers to sleep. He's got his answer. Now he needs to think about it before they talk more.

Think about it, and sleep.

~~~

The next morning, Adam wakes up to find Tommy sprawled out next to him, still deep in sleep. They've moved apart during the night, but that's nothing unusual. What _is_ unusual is that, even in sleep, Tommy's stretched out a hand to him, and it's resting over Adam's inner wrist where he's got his arms curled up to tuck his hand under the pillow. Resting, Adam's amused and kind of touched to notice, right over his infinity tattoo.

He kind of wants to stay exactly where he is, watching Tommy sleep, but that's Twilight levels of creepy, plus he really needs to pee.

"Baby," he says softly, pretty pleased with himself for sounding anywhere near coherent since his usual level of clarity in the morning before coffee is more along the lines of "nnngh?".

Tommy doesn't move. If anything, his grip on Adam's wrist tightens slightly when Adam tries to withdraw his arm. It would be kind of adorable if Adam's bladder wasn't quite so insistent on him needing to leave the bed _right now_.

"Tommy Joe," he says, more loudly, and tugs against Tommy's grip.

Fingers flex around his wrist, pressing tighter again for a moment before Tommy's eyes snap open and he lets go. Deep sleep to wide awake in 0.02 seconds, panic written all across his face. "Oh fuck."

Also more coherent than Tommy usually is in the morning. It doesn't take a genius to work out why he's panicking, though seriously, Adam _has_ to get to the bathroom. "No," he says as firmly as he can manage, and rests his index finger on Tommy's lips. "No oh fuck. Just hold that thought, okay?"

Tommy scowls but nods and bites half-heartedly at the tip of Adam's finger. Relieved, Adam nods back, moves his hand, kisses Tommy, and rolls out of bed to stumble to the bathroom.

Urgent needs attended to and remnants of his make-up removed (he's seriously got to think about listening to Sutan's recommendations for mineral-based stuff), Adam checks in on Tommy to find him, as expected, soundly asleep again, curled up around a pillow. It's seriously kind of adorable.

He checks the time, resists the temptation to crawl back into bed with Tommy, and goes to order coffee. There are times he really appreciates the luxury of having a suite, and this is definitely one of them, when he can call down for coffee without disturbing Tommy. It's almost like having his own apartment - and he's going to have that again really soon. For now, he's making the most of being able to call room service for coffee instead of having to make it himself by ordering breakfast as well.

 _Then_ he can crawl back into bed with Tommy, laughing when Tommy lets go of the pillow to curl around him instead. Adam sinks his fingers into the tangle that Tommy's hair always manages to get into whenever he sleeps.

Tommy murmurs something unintelligible and wraps himself around Adam's leg, waking up more slowly and with less panic. Just as much cursing, though. "Fuck."

"If you insist," Adam says obligingly, slipping his hand out of Tommy's hair and leaning forwards to skate it down his spine. "But there's breakfast on the way."

"Soon?" Tommy lifts his head, hair falling over his eyes.

It really is unfair how effortlessly Tommy manages to look hot, adorable, tempting, horny and hopeful at the same time. "Twenty minutes." Adam's already rolling over and reaching for the lube.

"You owe me," Tommy says firmly. "You can totally fuck me in twenty minutes."

Adam totally can.

Twenty five minutes later, with a really nice post-sex buzz going and wrapped in a hotel bathrobe that's nowhere near as nice as his own (but half his clothes had to go into storage and either his bathrobe's there or Brad stole it again), Adam retrieves the breakfast and still-mostly warm coffee from outside the door. It means Tommy gets to stay naked, which Adam's all in favor of.

Besides, he can take his robe off again as soon as he's put the tray down on the table over by the window.

The shower's still running when he opens the bathroom door, but not for long enough for him to join Tommy. If there's one thing Adam's learned about Tommy, it's that showering together comes lower down his scale of priorities than food and coffee first thing in the morning. Way lower.

"Hey," Tommy says, dripping, and reaches one wet hand up to curl around Adam's neck and tug him down for a kiss.

It's slow and warm, almost lazy, edge of urgency blunted by the early morning fuck (which is rapidly turning into one of Adam's favorite ways to start the day, right up there with early morning blow jobs). Adam reaches out without breaking the kiss to grab a towel, wrapping it around Tommy's shoulders and using it to pull him in closer, careless of dampness. "Hey, baby."

"Hey," Tommy says again, contented, and presses in against him. "Your air-con's set too fucking high."

"I do it on purpose so you have to stay close to me to get warm." Adam grins and nuzzles Tommy's hair. "Breakfast's here."

"Something smells better than you." Tommy grins back and pulls away, heading towards breakfast. He makes it about three paces, then stops, his back to Adam. "Shit. Last night..."

Adam's grin fades and he half-wishes for his robe back again. "If you're about to mention the word 'embarrassing', you can stop right there."

Tommy's shoulders hunch higher. "I was kinda hoping I'd dreamed the talking bit."

That's not a good reaction. It's also not something that Adam's going to let continue. Instead of letting it go, he moves up behind Tommy to wrap around him. "Look at it this way, it means you don't have to tell me again this morning? Though it would be kinda hot if you did."

After a moment of complete stillness, Tommy groans and leans back against Adam. "Breakfast first?"

"In a moment." First, though, he needs to test a theory, making sure his arms are over Tommy's as he tightens his grip. It's not enough that Tommy _couldn't_ get away, just enough that he'd have to make an effort to escape. The important thing, the point, is that Tommy's not making that effort. If anything, he's leaning more heavily against Adam and finally relaxing, head tipping back against his shoulder.

Yep. Theory proven.

Adam rests his chin on top of Tommy's head, looking down to see Tommy's hands form fists before releasing, fingers splaying wide and stretching then relaxing, arms falling against his sides with a soft sigh. "You are so fucking gorgeous like this," Adam says softly. "Did you know?"

"That I'm gorgeous?" Tommy closes his eyes. Which, true, is always gorgeous, but eventually, Adam's determined to get him to have this conversation face to face. Not yet, though. This is early, and he's treading so carefully to make sure that they _get_ the chance to have this conversation again.

He slides one hand down Tommy's arm until he can circle his fingers loosely around Tommy's wrists, skin catching unevenly against still damp skin. "That being controlled gets you hot."

"Uh," Tommy says. Or at least, Adam thinks he says it, it could just be a sound. Whatever it is, it's really kind of gorgeous, but also a sign that he probably needs to back off some if he wants to have any kind of coherent conversation.

He has to remind himself that he does want that, and not Tommy Joe all hot and pliant and receptive in the shower. Right now, anyway. Reluctantly, he loosens his grip on Tommy's wrist and relents. "Breakfast," he says, and steers Tommy out of the bathroom towards food and coffee that might, possibly, have a little warmth left in it.

~~~

Breakfast is a temporary reprieve. As usual, Tommy eats about three quarters of the food and bitches about Adam's diet and Adam drinks about three quarters of the coffee and ignores the bitching, then Adam has to admit that he really does need to shower and shave. That takes another half hour. When he emerges from the bathroom, it's to find Tommy wrapped in his missing bathrobe, painting his toenails on the couch. With, Adam notices, his own new nail polish.

"That looks better on you than me," he says ruefully. "Keep it."

Tommy raises his foot, robe sliding invitingly up his thigh as his leg lifts, and holds out the lacquer bottle. "Finish me off, then? You're better than I am."

"That just means you need practice." Adam takes the bottle anyway, and wraps his hand around Tommy's ankle, settling it on his thigh as he sits down.

"Fuck practice, I have you," Tommy retorts logically.

Adam has to admit that he kind of likes making Tommy prettier, anyway. Not that Tommy isn't already startlingly, exquisitely pretty. "I paint your nails, you talk?"

"Fine," Tommy says, more readily than Adam expects. "I thought you, like, knew."

He tilts the bottle, checking the shade and shimmer against the light before making sure the lid's firmly on and shaking it. "Knew what, baby?"

"About the control thing." There's a very slight hint of hesitation in Tommy's voice, but he's still talking, so Adam keeps his focus on Tommy's foot, slowly and carefully painting each nail, silver gray glitter as even as he can make it.

"So you did know." Okay, that's something he kind of wishes they'd talked about before.

Tommy snorts, and lifts his other (unpainted) foot to push Adam's shoulder. Gently, not enough to spill nail polish. "The way you were pulling me around on stage all year? Yeah, I knew. You didn't?"

Sometimes, apparently, he can be really dense. "Remember how long it took me to work out that the kissing thing wasn't just a stage thing?"

"Fuck yeah." Tommy grins, sly and kind of amazing in its confidence after the near freak-out of last night. "Thought I was gonna have to pin _you_ down to get more."

"You just had to try sometime I didn't think you were drunk," Adam says with as much dignity as he can muster. "It worked out."

Tommy wriggles his toes against Adam's bare shoulder. "Could've been fucking me for _months_ if you weren't such a principled bitch."

It's tempting to get distracted into catch up again, but Adam's determined he's going to get to the end of this conversation. "And _you_ could have told me you were kinky."

"Because _that_ would've got me laid by Mr. Self-Proclaimed Vanilla. Are you done with that foot?"

"You're reading my press again?" he asks incredulously, and very gently touches the pad of his forefinger to Tommy's thumbnail to test how dry it's getting. "Okay, swap feet."

What he says to the press and what he does in private are two not completely related things. Most of it's true; some of it's carefully layered diversion, and the tiny remainder is simply deception for self preservation. Gay is true. Monogamous is true. Romantic is true.

Tommy rubs his unpainted foot against Adam's face in a gesture that would have been a caress if it hadn't been his _foot_ , then drops it down in Adam's lap, tucking the other foot back out of the way. "So now you're saying, what, you've got sprinkles?"

It takes Adam a moment to follow the analogy, then he laughs, screwing the lid tightly back on the nail polish bottle before wrapping his right hand around Tommy's ankle again and drawing the nail of his left forefinger along the sole of Tommy's foot, just to watch his toes curl over and feel the pull where his leg wants to twitch away from the teasing tickle. "Let's just say the Supper Club's not the first alternative club Cassidy's performed in."

Tommy pulls against Adam's hold again - futile, since Adam isn't about to let go - and scowls. "I wasn't asking about Cassidy."

Adam arches an eyebrow and presses Tommy's foot down on his thigh again. "Who d'you think topped him?"

Tommy's eyes widen, then narrow again, and that's all the warning that Adam gets before Tommy's lurching towards him, regardless of Adam's grip on his ankle. "Sneaky fucker!"

Letting go of Tommy's ankle turns into pretty much a necessity, so Adam does, laughing and catching him before they both fall off the couch. They fall anyway, but it's more controlled, rolling and dropping to the carpet tangled together. Adam's towel gets lost somewhere along the way, but that's not important. What is important is holding onto Tommy and making sure nothing vital gets crushed along the way. "So _now_ we're talking..."

Instead of actually talking, Tommy bites Adam's nose, sprawling on top of him. "You wanna be my dom?" he asks, like everything's suddenly simple.

It so isn't. "No," Adam says firmly. Because, seriously, the whole twenty-four seven master/slave thing just sounds kind of exhausting. He doesn't want Tommy Joe to be his sub, anyway. He wants Tommy Joe to be his Tommy Joe. "But I do wanna dom you."

"Fuckin' A," Tommy says happily, licks Adam's ear, and snuggles in against his side. "So, restraints are hot."

"I got that," Adam agrees. Pretty fucking obvious, but it's good to know that it's not just being held down, and his mind's already skipping to the case (sadly still in storage) that holds his toys and the way Tommy's going to look pulling against the burgundy leather cuffs. "And breathplay?"

Tommy makes a sound that's nearly a purr, rubbing his head against Adam's shoulder. "Hot. You've done it before, right?"

The purr's gone straight to Adam's cock, and he groans, rolling onto his side to wrap around Tommy (sparing a moment to be grateful for the softness of the carpet). "I've never choked someone with my dick before," he says, then pauses, adding for honesty's sake, "on purpose."

"I've never choked on dick before," Tommy dismisses, then insists, "but you've done breath control before."

Where he's getting his information from, Adam has no idea. Breath control's not something he's done in public, or even in the semi-public open areas of a club. It's also not something he's ever done with Cassidy or Brad, so there go those channels, and Drake really _was_ vanilla. Mostly. "Yeah, I've done it before. With my hand."

"Wanna do me?" Tommy stretches out, arching against Adam, one hand taking advantage of the absence of towel to stroke down Adam's back and squeeze his ass.

"Fuck, yes." But not immediately, no matter how tempting Tommy is. And probably not even while he's still living in a hotel. He's going to want more privacy and more uninterrupted time and some lead-in time to prepare.

He takes Tommy back to bed to test out his reaction to honor bondage instead.

It's kind of awesome.

He also, eventually, gets around to painting the toenails on Tommy's other foot.

~~~

It's another two weeks and then some before they actually get the opportunity. Breathplay's not a thing that Adam wants to jump straight into, even if they have kind of done it before. Besides, he's got plenty of other things to explore with Tommy first. Less extreme things. Honor bondage is just the start of it: once he's got his stuff back from storage, he gets to find out that Tommy's even hotter with physical bondage and also that he's apparently got a massive kink for orgasm control. Maybe it's just a making-Tommy-come kink, because, fuck, Tommy's beautiful when he comes and after he comes, all fucked out and wrecked, pliant and clingy. He's pretty fucking beautiful when he's desperate to come, as well, his cock flushed and hard, dark above the band of black leather wrapped snugly around the base until Adam chooses to release it.

So it's not like Adam's getting _bored_ , and he's completely certain that Tommy's not getting bored either. It's just that he hasn't forgotten about the breath control thing, either.

Neither, it turns out, has Tommy. And Tommy Joe, now he's finally accepted that, yes, Adam _is_ actually kinky, is totally shameless in asking for what he wants. Or, sometimes, just plain sneaky.

Blow jobs are still (and will always be) one of Adam's favorite things, both to give and get, so there's no way he's going to call a halt when Tommy wriggles between Adam's legs and slides his hands up to Adam's hips with _that_ look in his eyes. Tommy still waits long enough to make eye contact and get the nod from Adam before actually sliding his mouth over Adam's cock. (Surprise blow jobs have caused bruises in some interesting places and one very carefully unexplained visit to a discreet chiropractor.)

Adam sighs in satisfaction and slides both hands into Tommy's hair, twisting strands around his fingers, feeling them catch against his rings. "So good, baby, fuck, love your mouth." He's pretty sure he'll love it even more if Tommy gets the tongue piercing he keeps talking up, but it's fucking awesome without any metal, all hot and wet and soft, tight lips and slick tongue and mind-meltingly amazing suction, enough that he can hear the pop each time Tommy slides back, pressing his head hard into Adam's hands, letting Adam's cock slip out of his mouth just so Adam can watch as well as feel the way Tommy's tongue slides over and around his cockhead, pink and shining and gorgeous. And, hottest of all, eager.

He slides one foot back, knee bending, and pushes up gently. Not really enough to be a thrust, but definitely enough that Tommy should be getting the idea that it's time to stop with the teasing and get down to the serious sucking. "More, sweetheart, can you take me, can you take more? Wanna feel you, take it, fuck..."

It usually works better asking and encouraging than going hardline dom and giving Tommy orders. They're both pretty clear who's in charge of setting the pace (always Adam) and who's in charge of setting limits (the guy with teeth conveniently placed for instant emasculation). Tommy rolls his eyes to look up at Adam through his lashes, pulls back enough to smirk, and then fucking goes for it. Down, fast and hard, taking way more than Adam expects, startling a groan and a curse at the swift heat pressing around his cock, further than he'd thought Tommy could manage.

Tightening his hands in Tommy's hair, he pulls. The intention's to tug Tommy off, at least a couple of inches, but Tommy just growls (which feels a-fucking-mazing, low vibrations buzzing through Adam's cock) and strains against Adam's hands, eyes darkening and closing as he tries to push deeper. Tommy's hands tighten on Adam's hips, nails digging in, and he pulls up.

For a brief, blissful moment, Adam goes with it, arching up off the bed to fuck deep into Tommy's mouth, into his throat, so willing, so fucking hungry for it. Only a moment, though, because he can feel the tension gathering through Tommy's body and see the tears leaking from his eyes, wetting his lashes into dark spikes. That doesn't necessarily mean Tommy wants to stop; it does mean there's more going on than Adam's intending or controlling.

He drops back to the bed, hands loosening, one staying light against the back of Tommy's head and the other going to rest on Tommy's shoulder. His cock pretty much hates him, but he's still got enough mind and self-control to say, "Stop, Tommy Joe."

His heart's still beating too fast, and he's not breathing as deeply or evenly as he should be to convince Tommy that he - or at least, his body - doesn't want to continue, but "stop" works as well as any safeword. Tommy pulls back and lets go of Adam's hips, dragging the back of his left hand across his mouth to catch the spit that's spilled down his chin. "What?"

Adam forces a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it slowly, and holds a hand out to Tommy. "What are you doing?"

"Sucking your cock," Tommy says, shiny lower lip protruding slightly.

Adam resists the urge to trace Tommy's lips with his finger, and arches his eyebrows at Tommy instead. "That's not all you were doing."

"You fucking loved it." Tommy looks down, hiding his eyes from Adam. "Why'd we stop?"

Letting his hand drop to the bed, since Tommy's not taking it, Adam sits up, leaning against his raised knee. "Because you weren't just sucking my dick. Tell me the truth."

Tommy's hair slides down, concealing his face further. "Okay, I wanted your cock down my throat."

And for a few fantastic minutes, Tommy had it, too, and Adam isn't denying he'd loved that. "Because?"

"Because it's fucking hot when you lose it and choke me," Tommy says sulkily.

Finally. "So why didn't you ask me to?"

Tommy stays stubbornly silent. Adam sighs, leans forwards, and pushes Tommy's hair back. "Look at me, baby."

It takes a few more seconds, but Tommy finally lifts his head. His eyelashes are still damp, clumped like he's wearing too much cheap mascara, and his lips are full and rough, teeth worrying his lower lip.

"Why?" Adam asks again, more softly.

"I just got into it." It sounds like truth, and it looks like truth. Tommy can't lie for shit. He can avoid like a slippery twisty fucker, but he can't outright lie. Not without Adam being able to tell, anyway.

"You weren't thinking I'd say no?" Adam presses, fingers light against Tommy's cheek.

Tommy's eyes flare wider, darker for a moment before he shakes his head. "Fuck, no, what kind of asshole do you think I am?"

"My kind," Adam says firmly, though it's a relief anyway. "Come back up the bed with me."

Both he and his cock are going to need a few minutes to get back into it, and this is something that needs more words. He lies back, hand held out to Tommy, and wiggles his fingers to reinforce the invitation.

Tommy huffs a breath and crawls up Adam's body, flopping down onto the bed and rolling in against his side. "So are you gonna?"

Okay, Adam's dick is firmly back in the game. Adam ignores it, tilts his head and arches his eyebrows at Tommy. "You know how it works, Tommy Joe."

Not so much the breathplay, but they're already figuring out what works for them generally. Not exactly rules, and nowhere near as formal as rituals, but communication is important, and besides, Adam does have one rule. If Tommy can't talk about it, they're not doing it. It's only a little bit about loving Tommy's fucking filthy mouth.

Baring his teeth for a moment in a scowl that's nowhere near real annoyance, Tommy turns his head in response and licks Adam's shoulder then rubs his cheek against it, stubble scraping rough over Adam's skin. "Will you choke me?"

A please would be nice, but Adam's working up to that kind of thing. Gradually. "No," he says calmly.

Tommy jackknifes away, glaring and pulling his knees up to curl around them (and block Adam's view of his extremely pretty cock). "Mother _fucker_. You said..."

Adam simply looks at Tommy, steady, not moving. "You're asking the wrong thing, baby."

The glare intensifies. "Fine. Will you stuff your huge fucking monster cock down my throat until I can't breathe?"

It's seriously fucking tempting, and Adam's cock is firmly in favor of the idea. Adam's upstairs brain, though, is still just about in charge (and possibly planning the purchase of a ring gag in the near future). He rolls onto his side, reaching out to stroke Tommy's hair, hand sliding down to rest against that pale, slender neck, thumb resting over the frantic fluttering of Tommy's pulse. "Don't ask for what you want me to do," he reminds Tommy softly. "Ask me for what you want."

Tommy swallows once, convulsive, his Adam's apple sliding against Adam's thumb, and leans into the contact, deepening the pressure. His eyes glaze and darken, pupils widening in black lust, and his lips part in silence for a moment before he manages speech. "My breath," he says eventually, low and rough. "Will you take my breath?"

Oh fuck, _yes_. "I will," Adam says, simple and quiet, then moves his hand to curl around the back of Tommy's neck, delicacy abandoned to haul him in for a kiss. Hot and messy, head barely inclined, making Tommy come to him and, shit, he _does_ , scrambling back closer with soft, hungry sounds, hands restless on Adam's shoulders, chest, face as Tommy drops his head back, opening to Adam's kiss, inviting him deeper with every curl of his tongue. Tommy's fucking beautiful like this, so eager for it, sending a dark surge of satisfaction through Adam along with the sharp hit of lust. It's a rush, being wanted so much, being trusted so much, deeper for the fact that Tommy actually knows him and sweeter and more intoxicating because he wants Tommy every bit as much, sharp angles of that sly, feline beauty drawing him as surely as the potent blend of Tommy's easy-going nature and the passionate strength of his convictions.

He draws back, catching the tip of Tommy's tongue in his teeth, playful, tugging very gently before letting go on a laugh that's about nothing except pure happiness. "I'm still not gonna fuck your face," he warns.

"Not gonna fuck my face _today_ ," Tommy insists hoarsely.

"Okay, today," Adam admits. Because some day, and some day soon, it's definitely going to happen. He reaches behind him, hauling pillows into place to lean on (and not so incidentally unearthing the bottle of lube and a cloth, because there are some things that need to get slick and some things he's really not going to want a slippery hand for), then spreads his legs, patting the space between them. "Come here, baby, lean on me."

Tommy narrows his eyes, studying Adam for a moment with an expression that makes him look like a suspicious Siamese, then shrugs and rolls over, settling to lean his back against Adam's chest. It doesn't quite put Adam's cock against Tommy's ass, but for now, the hot skin of Tommy's lower back is close enough.

Leaving the lube where it is for a moment, Adam wraps one arm around Tommy's waist, rests his chin on Tommy's shoulder, and uses his free hand to caress Tommy's chest, slow and almost lazy, finger rolling to the side to trail over Tommy's nipple just for the sound he makes and the way it makes him squirm. In response, Tommy lets his head fall to the side, back against Adam's shoulder, and hooks his right leg over Adam's. "So if you're not gonna fuck my face, what are we gonna do?"

Adam's never going to stop loving hearing that. Not a "what are you gonna do to me?" but "what are we gonna do?", together. It's an attitude that's way more hot than just taking and reacting. (Unless he's actually got his sub restrained and immobilized, but that's a whole other story.) "I'm gonna take your breath away," he says, with a grin for the line, and pinches Tommy's right nipple.

Breath hisses through teeth as Tommy swallows whatever he's trying to say, and he arches up, shoulder digging in hard to Adam's chest. Adam tightens the arm around Tommy's waist, pulls him back down, back in, waits for him to settle and wonders if he can convince Tommy to get his nipples pierced, because sensitivity like that so shouldn't be wasted.

"Fucker," Tommy says at last, breathless, and kisses the side of Adam's neck. "I don't breathe through my fucking nipples."

Which so earns him another pinch. "How much d'you wanna know and how much d'you wanna let happen?"

It's a serious question. There are a lot of things that Adam would just go for, but anything that classes as edgeplay isn't something Adam's going to push for. He'd stop, with anything, if Tommy wanted or needed him to, but he really needs to be sure that Tommy knows what he's getting into before his judgment gets clouded by physical reactions.

Tommy reaches back, fingers sliding into Adam's hair (which stretches out his torso in a seriously distracting manner). "How are you gonna stop me breathing?"

"With my hand." It's not the only way, but he likes the intimacy of the connection, and he also kind of likes that Tommy's tiny and delicate enough that he can cover Tommy's mouth and nose pretty easily with just one hand.

Tommy's fingers curl, blunt nails pressing against Adam's scalp for a moment, then he drops his hand, idly tugging at his cock. (Adam lets him get away with it, this time.) "Show me."

Adam grins around the happiness and kisses Tommy's shoulder. "Put your hands on my thighs, then, Tommy Joe. Two taps the same side if you need me to stop."

"I won't," Tommy says with a shrug, but does it anyway. It's not negotiable.

"Good boy," Adam says, just for the scowl it gets him, laughs and kisses Tommy, firming the arm around Tommy's waist and holding him still, letting the weight press against Tommy's stomach. "Take a breath in. Don't waste it on talking now."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but takes the breath. It's an intimacy Adam seriously adores, feeling the way Tommy's ribs expand as his lungs fill, feeling the shift of his diaphragm hollowing.

"And let it out. Slowly." Okay, so he could just go for taking Tommy's breath from him, but everything's better with a build up. Plus he has to admit that he gets off on the way Tommy obeys him, breathing under Adam's control even without it being physically enforced. His own breathing synchs with the rhythm, slow and easy, heart rate slowing as well, soothed by the physical relaxation.

He guides Tommy through another two breaths, third one held for five long seconds before exhaling, and by the time that's done, Tommy's limp against him, heavy and warm, cock curving out hard and flushed. Adam slides his hand back so he can rest his hand over Tommy's stomach rather than his arm, feeling the wet kiss of Tommy's cockhead against his wrist, and presses lightly to reinforce the message to Tommy. He's there, he's got Tommy safe, and he's definitely in control.

Tommy shivers once, fingers pressing into Adam's thighs then relaxing again, and he rolls his head on Adam's shoulder, eyes heavy and dark as he looks up.

It's an invitation Adam won't refuse, bending to kiss Tommy softly and then look into his eyes as he slides his free hand up from Tommy's chest, over his throat. "Trust me," he whispers, and keeps watching Tommy's eyes as he moves his hand, over the sharp curve of Tommy's chin until he can flatten his palm over Tommy's mouth. Just enough pressure to hold his head still, not light enough to let Tommy move his lips apart. He stays there for a moment, waiting for Tommy to react. He can feel Tommy's heartbeat kicking faster, can feel the warmth of Tommy's breath ghosting over his knuckles, the way Tommy's fingers dig into his thighs again before easing off.

"That's it," he says softly. His own heartbeat's picked up, and he can't even analyze all the emotions he's got going on. Love, sure. Lust, that's a given. Awe and humility at the depth of Tommy's trust in him, always startling. The odd sense of pride is new, though. Proud of Tommy for doing this, of himself for trusting in return, of _them_ for risking it together. "Here we go. Breathe in, Tommy Joe, hold it for me."

He gives Tommy three seconds to fill his lungs, then a slight angle of his hand gives him the position he needs. He presses the pad of his thumb against one nostril, using the first joint of his index finger to pinch Tommy's nose completely closed. It's been years since he's done this, but the power rush is familiar, the heady, terrifying knowledge that he's literally got Tommy's life in his hands, and that Tommy trusts him not to take it. Something about the intimacy of it's new, though, the look in Tommy's eyes, and this _really_ matters.

He doesn't hold it for long. Somewhere around twenty seconds, long enough for Tommy to know he's got control, long enough that that Tommy's cheek puffs out against his fingers as instinct tries to expel air. It's not pushing against either the limits of what he'll risk or, he suspects, what Tommy wants, but he's not about pushing this time. He's demonstrating.

Tommy's grip tightens, and his back goes rigid with tension, but he's not fighting. Adam presses slightly more firmly on Tommy's stomach and gets rewarded by faint relaxation, then he slides his hand down from Tommy's nose and mouth. Not breaking the contact, he keeps his hand warm against Tommy's throat, but he's given the breath back to Tommy and he can feel Tommy's shoulders rise as the breath lifts his chest, not pulled deep enough yet to shift his diaphragm.

"Like that," Adam says very quietly, and manages to give Tommy long enough for another breath before kissing him. Tommy pushes up into the kiss, something frantic about him, but his hands stay in place on Adam's thighs, and he's not taking control. He's not even demanding, he's asking. _Begging_.

Adam slides his hand up until he can rest his fingers under Tommy's chin, light encouragement without control, and takes the kiss, slowing and easing back, then settles his hands over Tommy's. "Good?"

Tommy nods, wordless, and lets his head fall to the side, hair sliding across his face.

Adam laughs softly and pushes the hair aside with his nose. "Well, I was gonna fuck you at the same time, but if that's gonna be too much for you..."

The noise that Tommy makes at that can only be described as growling. "Fucking fuck me already, fucker."

"Language, Tommy Joe," Adam says primly around the laughter trying to escape. Tommy's language somehow manages to get worse when he's half-down. When he's completely down, he goes sub-vocal. Adam loves it. A lot. Eloquently. "Forward then, baby, let me at that ass."

Tommy grunts, snaps his teeth somewhere near Adam's neck without actually connecting, and simply flops forwards, feet sliding back until he's settled on all fours with his knees straddling Adam's thighs and his arms between Adam's calves. His back arches, smooth pale curve, and his ass is slightly raised in a shameless offer that Adam's got absolutely no hesitation in accepting.

He slaps Tommy's thigh once and leans to the side to reach for the lube, flipping the lid off and pumping it directly onto Tommy's ass, catching it with two fingers before it slides down too far. He's less careful with Tommy than he had been at first, going straight in with two fingers and trusting in the lube and Tommy's general relaxation to take them. It's tight, sure, heat pressing in against his fingers and holding them locked together, but Tommy's arching his spine deeper and rocking back towards him, soft needy noises the only encouragement Adam needs to keep going. More lube, worked into Tommy's snug hole with smooth fucks of Adam's fingers, pressing deeper and stretching. He's purposely avoiding Tommy's prostate for now, and by the way Tommy's circling his hips, Tommy's well aware of it and not entirely in agreement.

He slaps again, this time open handed on Tommy's ass. It's left-handed, so slightly less precise than the one to Tommy's thigh earlier, but his right hand's busy fucking fingers into Tommy's asshole and staying that way for a few more minutes. "I'll get you there, when I'm ready. Settle down."

Tommy grumbles something wordless and drops his head to the mattress, but he goes still and doesn't try to direct Adam's fingers again. Grinning in delight, Adam keeps going, watching as Tommy's hole begins to open up for him, tense muscle relaxing, shining with lube. It's a beautiful and deeply tempting sight.

More lube, and he slicks it swiftly over his own cock, touch light because he's so fucking hard by now that he doesn't want to set anything off before they're both ready. "Okay, baby, get up on me."

Tommy lifts his head again, slowly, bleach-fine hair obscuring his face but not his expression. "How?"

"Same as you were," Adam says with a slight smirk, and swings his legs back under him until he's kneeling on the bed. "Come sit on my lap."

It wouldn't work for everyone, but they've got enough size difference - and Adam's cock is long enough - that it works for them. Tommy gets his toes under him, then his feet, then crab-walks backwards on his hands until he's kind of crouching over Adam's thighs. Adam rests his lube-slick hand on his cock, his dry hand on Tommy's hip, and uses both to guide them together, hissing a soft curse as the sweet close heat of Tommy's ass envelops his cock.

"Fucker," Tommy says again, voice thick, and drops to his knees, toes braced against the mattress. The shift presses his ass down on Adam's cock for another couple of inches, and Adam lets go of it, reaching blindly for the rag to wipe both hands completely dry.

"Fucking you," Adam agrees, strained. "Straighten up, baby, lean back."

Tommy whines, but does it, everything shifting in deeply interesting ways as the angle of his ass shifts with the position. Tommy keeps going until his shoulders meet Adam's chest, and by that point, Adam can feel Tommy trembling with the effort, sweat shining across his shoulders.

He settles his hands back where they'd been before, splayed wide and warm on Tommy's stomach and curving around his throat. It's about support as much as it's about connection, and some of the tension eases from Tommy's spine at the extra support keeping him upright. "Okay?" Adam asks softly.

"Yeah," Tommy whispers, and pushes forward slightly. "Okay."

Adam firms up his hands, pressing harder against the push, and rubs his nose in Tommy's hair. "You're okay, baby. You're amazing. Hold on for me, okay?"

"On to what?" Tommy's words slur slightly, but he's got a good point. It's not like there are handles, and Adam's not keen on the idea of Tommy touching his own cock, either. That orgasm's _his_ to give.

"Me," he says finally. "Reach up, back, hold onto my shoulders."

It means Tommy's arching his back and, if Adam's worked out the position right, means it's going to be harder for Tommy to breathe anyway, something Tommy apparently figures out once his hands connect with Adam's shoulders. "Adam..."

"Got you," Adam promises, pressing his fingers in against Tommy's throat hard enough for him to feel it. "Let it go, baby, trust me, I've got you."

It's not exactly relaxation, but Tommy somehow gets heavier. It's enough trust for Adam. "Beautiful, Tommy Joe," he says, and tilts his head, gently biting the side of Tommy's neck and sighing warmly when that makes Tommy's hips stutter, gorgeous slide off and onto his cock, seating them closer together. His hips want to move, tight and tense with the instinct, but he won't yet.

He moves his hand from Tommy's throat and settles it lightly over Tommy's mouth, not pressing down enough to cut off his air. Still enough for Tommy to feel it. "Same as before," he says. "Double tap means you need to stop. Anywhere you can reach, just make sure it's a double. Do it now, let me know you've got it."

Tommy stays still for a moment, then his right hand slips from Adam's shoulder, contact clearly broken before he taps twice. It's not in the same place, and it's not hard, but it's definitely enough for Adam to notice.

"Okay," he says. "We're gonna go for longer this time, same drill. Take a breath in for me."

It's a swifter breath than before, and Adam grins at that. His baby's a fast learner. He gives Tommy a few seconds, then clamps his hand down, pinching again to completely block of Tommy's air.

It's even more intimate like this, with his cock in Tommy's ass. It's another level of connection, and something else that lets him feel the tension. It builds quicker this time, or maybe he's just feeling it more, Tommy trembling against him as the instinct to breathe grows stronger. He'd swear he can actually feel Tommy's heartbeat through his dick, as well as the shudder that runs through Tommy as he tests for the first time. Not a serious challenge, just a test, jaw shifting slightly, hands tightening on Adam's shoulders, head pushing against Adam's hand to see if he'll move it.

Adam won't. Not until he's ready. "Settle," he says, more firmly. Still quiet, still steadier, voice steadier than his own breathing. "Let go, Tommy Joe. Give it to me."

Just a few more seconds, keeping up the pressure until Tommy's eyes close. Then Adam lets go, stroking his hand down over Tommy's throat to his chest, resting over Tommy's heart, keeping the support and feeling the sudden speed in Tommy's heartbeat as Tommy pulls in a ragged breath. He bends his head, brushing his lips over Tommy's cheek, and stays still, just holding him. For now. "Good?"

Tommy shivers again, pressing back against Adam's body, hips working harder down on his cock. Closer, everywhere. "Can go longer, if you wanna."

Adam wants, but Tommy already sounds kind of wrecked. Plus he doesn't really want to discover Tommy's limits by stumbling right over them. "You need to?"

He can already feel the way Tommy's more pliant, relying on him more, leaning on him more. He knows he can get them there, both of them, just through repetition, more if he builds up a rhythm, but if Tommy's been _used_ to more...

"I want to." Tommy's head lolls back, rolled to look up at Adam, pupils flared dark and wide. "C'mon, I can take it."

It's another layer of risk, but fuck, he wants it too and he trusts Tommy to know how far he can go. "Then you're gonna put one of your hands on my wrist," he says, thinking fast. "And you're not gonna try to pull away unless you need to, otherwise you're not gonna come for three days." (He's been looking for an excuse to get Tommy into the cock cage anyway.)

"Got it." Slowly, the pressure fades on Adam's right shoulder, and Tommy transfers his grip, wrapping slender, strong fingers around Adam's wrist, thumb resting directly over the Eye.

"Or try to hold my hand in place," Adam adds. "Have you used colors before?"

"Like traffic lights?" Tommy's voice is clearing, smoothing out. "Yeah."

Thank fuck. "Okay, so I'm gonna ask you for a color every time I let you breathe." Which is more precise than asking if Tommy's okay, and less blunt than a single safeword. "Yellow when you need me to back off, red when you need to stop. Where are you at now?"

"Green," Tommy says without hesitation.

Adam grins, moves his hand, and blocks Tommy's air again. No warning, no prep, just covering his mouth and nose and squeezing down.

Tommy startles, tension hard through his back and his fingers on Adam's wrist. Adam can feel the vibration of a surprised protest, but no sound escapes beyond a muffled hum. Sound needs air, after all.

Slowly, gradually, he eases off pressure on Tommy's stomach, ready and prepared to catch Tommy's hip when he bucks, jerky slide off his cock and more smoothly back on. "Five more seconds," he says softly, and uses those five seconds to use the extra flexibility to fuck slowly into the tight heat of Tommy's ass, feeling it, feeling fucking everything, every tremble, every heartbeat, tension growing and clamping down on his cock, dragging him in.

Cursing, he lifts his hand from Tommy's mouth, down to his shoulder, iron hard as he pulls Tommy back in, back against him, letting the slick warmth of skin touch. "Color."

"So fucking green," Tommy murmurs, thick and breathy, then proves that Adam's not the only one who can move with an unsteady roll of hips.

"Shit, baby..." There are going to be bruises on Tommy's hip from Adam's fingers, he's pressing so hard, and that's another source of satisfaction, another turn on. "Oh, fuck, do that again."

Tommy does it again, and Adam meets it, matches it, driving an expletive and a gasp from Tommy that's the only trigger he needs to take Tommy's breath again, feeling the way that makes Tommy arch and screw down harder on his cock. By the time they get to the fourth green, Adam's pretty sure he's shaking as much as Tommy is, and Tommy's definitely shaking, whole body sheened with sweat, still trying to move and still so beautifully hard, his cock curving out dark and proud, head shined and sticky with pre-come. From the restlessness in the way Tommy's shifting against him and still trying to move, Adam's pretty sure Tommy's even closer than he looks.

He catches Tommy's earlobe in his teeth, biting lightly and only letting go to grin at the breathless moan Tommy gives him for that, a moan that connects Adam's aural nerve directly to the way his hips jerk, fucking harder into Tommy's ass, deeper. "One more time, Tommy Joe, gonna go longer, take you higher..."

It's been a long time since anyone but Adam (and the occasional vocal coach) has controlled Adam's breath, but he still remembers how it feels from the receiving end. The rising beautiful warm darkness, the dizzy high of it, the temptation to always push harder, longer, ride the adrenaline kick further. "Last time, then you're gonna come for me, beautiful boy, gonna give it up for me..."

Tommy whines for him, thumb rubbing over his wrist, and shivers, unsteady and so fucking beautiful. "Please..."

Oh, yeah. Oh _fuck_ , yeah. Adam slides his hand back, position familiar now, so easy to find the best angle to completely block breath. He's not moving this time, not fucking, just holding hard and solid against the way Tommy squirms for him. Tommy's riding it, sure, but so's he, giddy on the trust and the power Tommy's giving him, sharing with him. Still and focused so he can count out, be absolutely fucking certain of how long he's taking Tommy's breath, how long he's holding. For the first ten seconds, he's holding his own breath as well, until he catches himself doing it.

Tommy goes still, past the need, past the panic, limp and heavy, thumb still stroking Adam's wrist. It's an in between time, it's trust manifesting, precious moments that have to end, but not yet. Gentle, cherished moments where Adam murmurs praise against Tommy's hair, how good he is, how well he's doing, how beautiful he's going to be when Adam lets him come. How _perfect_ he is when instinct drives his body into struggling but he's not pulling Adam's hand away, just holding on.

It's only a few seconds after the struggling starts up that Adam finally lets go. He can _feel_ the breath Tommy pulls in as well as hear it, rough and loud, hitch to it when he has to release some air to bring fresh oxygen into his lungs, body twisting as Tommy lets go of Adam's wrist and reaches for his hair instead. Adam goes with it, bending his head, and takes Tommy's mouth with his own at the same time as he curls his hand around Tommy's cock.

Time's not working any more. He knows it can't be long, he knows it's going to be over fast, but the seconds stretch out like personal eternities as Tommy shudders in his arms, spilling hot and slick over his hand, lips still pressed against his but more contact than kiss, hard and desperate. Tension's laced through every sinew from the effort of staying close and upright, releasing in uneven stages as Tommy adjusts both to breath and to coming.

"Yellow," Tommy manages roughly against Adam's mouth, fingers tangled in his hair. "Don't fucking stop."

Not stop, maybe, but Adam's definitely stepping down intensity for a yellow. He kisses Tommy again, hard, then reaches up to pull Tommy's hand from his hair. "Go down for me, Tommy Joe."

Tommy shudders again and sighs, eyes closed, then flops forwards. His hands hit the mattress moments before his forehead does, and his back bows upwards before dropping down into a shallow arch. He's still on his knees, and his ass is still tight around Adam's cock, but he's pretty clearly exhausted.

Adam smooths one hand down Tommy's spine, then settles both hands on Tommy's hips, beginning to shift back.

"I said don't fucking _stop_ ," Tommy slurs, head rolling to the side.

Adam's never loved him more. "You want more?"

"I want your fucking cock," Tommy agrees, going heavy, knees splaying out to the sides. "Wanna feel you jizz in me. Finish me off."

Tempting as it is to finish up in Tommy's ass, there's kind of a theme going on. Adam braces himself, pulls out, and catches Tommy's hand as he flails, apparently aimlessly.

"In me," Tommy says, patting at Adam's arm. "Fucking shoot in me."

Okay, nearly. "On you," Adam says firmly. "Roll over, baby."

Tommy grumbles and flails some more before managing to roll onto his back, arms and legs sprawled out, hair a tangled mess. "What?"

"Oh, yeah," Adam says appreciatively, crawls over Tommy, and settles straddled over his chest. "Open your mouth."

Tommy narrows his eyes. "Your dick's been in my ass..."

"Trust me." Seriously, he wouldn't do that. Apart from anything else, they haven't found a decent lube that they both like the taste of yet. He strokes his hand over his own cock, slick where lube remains, catching rough where there's not quite enough for perfect smoothness.

"With?" Tommy's eyes focus in on Adam's cock and hand like there's nothing else in the world worth looking at. It's kind of flattering.

It's also Adam's intention. "You," he says breathlessly, speeding his hand up, feeling the need gathering, spiral settling heavy and tight, hips beginning to work with the rhythm of his hand. More. "Open up, Tommy Joe."

"You're gonna come on my face?" Tommy asks, sounding a lot more happy with the idea. "Kinky bastard."

"And in your mouth." If Tommy fucking _opens_ in time.

Tommy licks his lips, and that's Adam's undoing. He shatters, helpless, orgasm crashing over him hard, sweeping him away from the last traces of control and sinking him in the moment, heat pulsing through him as he comes, gasping and cursing and not even seeing where his come actually lands, because his head's dropped back and his eyes have closed.

When it lets him go and he gets his eyes open again, it's to the sight of Tommy sweeping a finger across his own cheek and sucking what's pretty obviously Adam's jizz from his skin. He nearly loses it again. He does fall into laughter, breathless and incredulous, forcing his muscles to keep resistance long enough to collapse beside Tommy instead of onto him.

"One of a fucking kind, Tommy Joe," he whispers fondly, and he'd swear that Tommy literally glows in response.

"So you're cooking me dinner," Tommy says, irrepressible, and curls up against Adam. There's even spunk in his _hair_.

"We'll order in," Adam dismisses, kisses Tommy, and falls asleep.


End file.
